Page 166 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Chapter 67

The world felt quiet again. Not the silence that followed fear, nor the hollow stillness left behind by loss, but something softer. Something earned. Evelyne stood in a corner of the Velenshire main market, watching life return to the streets in a way that still felt unreal after everything they had endured. Lanterns hung from shopfronts, ribbons of deep orange and gold woven between them, and the air carried the scents of baked bread, spiced cider, and leaves crushed beneath passing feet.

The autumn festival had come, as though the land itself had decided it deserved to celebrate.

Witches moved through the crowd in plain sight now, no longer hidden behind careful distance but woven into the hum of ordinary life. Wolves lingered at the edges of the streets, some in human form, others watching from shaded alleys and rooftops, their eyes alert but no longer haunted. Court ladies and gentlemen wandered freely in their finest clothes, laughter returning to voices that had trembled only nights before.

The world had not ended.

It had survived.

And somehow, so had they.

Evelyne let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing absently over the place where her mark had once felt fractured. The bond had returned the moment Kaldrek’s eyes cleared, when the darkness finally released him. She had run to him then, to where he lay surrounded by Cillian and the Sunweavers, barely upright, barely breathing, still glowing faintly from whatever magic had dragged him back from the edge.

As though he had felt her coming, his eyes found hers.

And the first thing she had done—

Was slap him.

Hard.

The memory tugged at her mouth despite everything. The sound had carried across the field, sharp enough to draw every eye. Kaldrek had stared at her, stunned, exhausted, and entirely deserving of it. Every bit of it.

And then she had kissed him.

Because no matter how furious she had been, no matter how much fear and anger had twisted through her in those awful moments, she loved him. Still loved him. Always would.

Nearly every night since, Kaldrek had broken at her feet, begging forgiveness for being so reckless, so certain he could carry the weight alone. And yes, he had been reckless. He had been foolish. But Evelyne had forgiven him, because she knew he had suffered too. He had watched the horror from inside himself, trapped behind cruel words and crueler actions, just as Cillian and Alaric had once endured. He had not summoned darkness. He had reached for power, desperate to protect them, and the Noskari had twisted that desperation into a weapon. Into a throne. Into a prison.

Each night, Evelyne had lifted his chin, looked into his dark brown eyes, so full of sorrow, and told him the same truth. “You are everything good in this world, Kaldrek. I will always love you, no matter what.”

She had not hated Cillian for becoming Vaelora’s weapon, nor Alaric for what he had done under corruption. She could never hate Kaldrek for being cornered, manipulated, and made into something he never chose to be. Mating bonds had a way of warping a wolf’s instincts when fear took hold, and Evelyne understood that far too well.

What mattered now was that they were alive. Safe. The land had begun to settle back into itself, and the witches had done everything in their power to smooth the edges of memory from human minds. A little glamour, a little careful misdirection, and Velenshire could pretend nothing unnatural had ever touched its streets.

But those who had seen the horror would remember. The fear. The blood. The dead. Some wounds would last for decades, because not everything could be restored, and not everyone could be brought back.

Seraphine.

The thought struck harder than Evelyne expected, even now. Her chest tightened, and she had to draw a careful breath as grief rose sharp and sudden beneath her ribs. She forced it down before it could take her. She would mourn Seraphine properly. She would remember her the way she deserved. But not here. Not now.

There was life in front of her tonight, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Evelyne wanted to immerse herself in it. To let herself be happy, even if only for a little while.

Cillian was somewhere in the crowd. She could feel him, whole in a way he had never been before. His connection to the land had settled into something natural and sure, and she had watched the change unfold in the days since the battle.

He walked differently now. Spoke differently. Lived differently.

And always, Alia was near him.

Evelyne smiled faintly at the sight of them. At the way Cillian looked at Alia. At the quiet ease between them. Alia would make a wonderful Lady Duskwood one day, and the thought settled warmly in Evelyne’s chest.

Familiar footsteps approached, though Evelyne did not need to turn to know he was there. Kaldrek’s presence wrapped around her before he spoke, steady and warm through the bond, and she leaned into him without thinking, her shoulder brushing his arm.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”